Archive for the ‘Hayes’ Tag

A fall-back week for running finished with a 13½ mile loop out to Hayes via the canal paths, an event-free and visually uninteresting run through the industrial and residential landscape of northwest London:

At the midpoint of the journey, Captain Morgan beckoned and I answered his call. Inside, I found a packed but fairly standard London Irish bar where I’m sure I was the first stranger to show up in ages. Eventually, the shock of not-just-an-outsider but one drenched with sweat in a Beatholes t-shirt and {gasp!} and an England Cricket cap. In fact, I’m not sure which was the bigger offense: England or cricket. I took my Bad Apple cider to a seat near the billiards table and watched as the crowd reanimated after my disturbing entrance.

WhatPub is usually effusive about the history behind a pub. Here’s the Captain’s listing (as of 15 October 2017):

About the Pub:

A pub since at least 1992, possibly even 1985.

So, it isn’t just me. The professionals at this game have fuck all to say. Decent boozer, but I bet it takes a few visits (or a later one in less of a state of decrepitude on the visitor’s part) to feel welcome.

I needed some stuff from a DIY store so I ran to the B&Q, Sunday. With some time to kill before the shop closed, I popped into the Lock & Quay for a quick pint.

The beer selection was a bit bleak or, rather, yuppie-leaning so I wound up with a pint of a Brewdog IPA with some dickish name attached to it. All the shade on the water was taken up with diners and civilised looking folk so I sat my sweaty ass in a window directly behind the jazz combo playing for our, the waterfowl’s, and the fishing enthusiasts’ pleasure.

They wrapped up a little number just as I sat down and I saw on the sheet music that the next one up was Bésame Mucho with only the bass, keyboards, and sax involved — nice! The drummer returned and the sax man picked up his clarinet as they moved on to Groove Merchant (another perfectly copacetic piece). If only the shower door didn’t need a seal, I could have stayed for at least one more beer.

I’ve run past the Old Crown a few times but have always been too loaded already to stop in. I had just finished the last stretch of Section 10 of the LOOP and was only 2 beers into the day so this seemed like an opportunity not to pass up.

The bar is essentially a long, railed counter and eventually leads to a darkened back lounge but I stuck close to the front. It’s a friendly crowd — a fair number of Irishmen on either side of the bar — and very much a locals hangout although almost directly across from the Hayes and Harlington rail station.

After some initial, welcoming niceties I was left to my own devices in a sunny seat near the front window. I spotted what is always a good sign — a childrens’ curfew — but not so good a sign as a blanket ban on the brats. There were none here, today, though.

I’m always pleased to see that bars are used for funerals. Not just wakes but actually taking the honoree for one last round. The photo of this announcement is a bit blurry but the sentiment warmed my heart as I bid the bar farewell and continued on my run home:

Section 10 of the LOOP took less time than I thought it would so, when I spotted the Crane about 2/3 through the trip, I popped in for a beer. It is still TECHNICALLY “The Crane” for licensing purposes although the signage indicates they would rather focus on the Indian food. However, the atmosphere was pure barfly inside and before I could get my Foster’s order in I was accosted by a very drunk Scotsman (John) with an impenetrable accent (here’s a clip of Rab C Nesbitt that is about halfway to the WeeGie white noise coming out of John’s face). I’ll just give you the semi-transcript/subtitles and deleting my repeated “pardons?” and “what wuzzats?”

“So, is that a carrot, then?”
“Oh, no sir, I’m just glad to see you.”
“No, you daft git,” pointing at my beer. “You’ve been running. Is that a carrot?”
“Oh, I see. Maybe years ago, but I think I’m such a hopeless sot it’s more of a stick than a carrot.”

We talked about work (he drives a DHL truck) and American politics as much as we could since we are equally baffled by Trump. We found points of reference between my Atlanta and his Paisley and Glasgow, and pretty much agreed that the English are hopeless bastards, complete tools. “Tell me this, then,” I asked, “how is the Second Referendum going to turn out?” This was about 48 hours before Nicola Sturgeon officially called for another Scottish Independence vote.

“It won’t be close, this time.” I’ll check his prediction here after the vote which will be late 2018 or early 2019.

A friend who doesn’t run pointed out that I’ve been repeatedly doing a section or two of the London Outer Orbital Path (LOOP). This is how I wound up running the Ridgeway Challenge a couple of years ago after doing most of the Avebury to Wantage segments of that long distance path; I decided to approach this one sensibly and do it entirely in sections as defined by the Transport For London pamphlets about the LOOP.

With plans to finish this in Spring, I’ll do a couple of more sections up till then but really focus on the final 100 miles over a couple of weekends in May. As it stands, I have 138 out of 150 miles (22 out of 24 Sections) still to go and really need to step up my game as far as route description and photography go…Des de Moor’s blog should be considered the gold standard for this (his postings on Sections 11 & 12 are here).

A little short of the halfway mark on the Sunday run, I managed to find a pub open for breakfast. Knowing a Wetherspoons would start serving at 9am, I had started the trek just before 8 and was changing into a dry shirt at 9:15. I had spotted the White House on a map and would never have ventured into the office park in which it sits otherwise; but, it turned out to be a fine choice.

I drank my beer in the conservatory while arranging my maps for the remainder of the run. A couple who were working on some massive breakfasts spotted a buddy and the dude yells up to him, “shouldn’t you be in church, mate?” I turned and drew a large circle toward the arched, glass roof with my finger; “he is.” They left shortly after; “bless you, my children,” I yelled after them, lifting my beer reverentially.

Around Christmas, I started a training cycle meant to prep me for the Siracusa City Marathon (Sicily) but other necessary travel was going to interfere with that date (and, in typical Italian fashion, they have just this week cancelled this year’s event, anyway) so I will have to make this year’s marathon some other time. I’m sticking to the schedule, though, and will just continue to ramp things as if I were doing another ultra (so when I DO finally pick 42K to run, it’ll be a dawdle).

This weekend, I had an 8 miler scheduled for Saturday and just decided to wing it by listening to some podcasts to give me an hour then legging it home from wherever I was then to close the loop. The photo, above, was some sort of elephant mobile that has appeared at a roadside memorial on the bike path next to the A40 (Western Avenue) between South Ruislip and Northolt.

Soon after the memorial photo, I picked up some Hash House Harrier marks from a recently cleared trail and followed those a bit, then out to Rayner’s Lane and, seeing that my time for the show I was listening to was lapsing, homeward.

Sunday was a little more structured for the planned 17 miles (17.7, eventually). Hopping on the towpath of the Paddington Branch by the Civil Engineer, it was a quiet canal-based trip around to the Grand Union Canal with a short detour for a pint at the White House before heading back to the waterside and into Uxbridge. Even after picking up the pavement, again, things were quiet (mostly wooded and waterside cycle path into Ickenham). Good loop, this one.

The Station House Apartments made me laugh because it sounds like a euphemism for prison … you know, like “The Grey Bar Hotel,” or something. They even look a little like something administered by G4S.

The graffito, below, was oddly encouraging although, with about 4 miles left the end was not near enough.